Kris had been zigzagging the desert for hours trying shake any pursuers. He skipped from road to road, randomly heading north, then west or south, changing direction whenever the chance arose. His scattered weaving in the night paid off as the dawn revealed skies blue and empty, the mountain-based hunters nowhere to be seen. As the sun climbed, his adrenaline-fueled focus faded, replaced by a thoroughly distracting idea.

At first, he tried to concentrate on the road. He put his whole being into it— counting the white mile markers as they zipped past, then forcing himself to memorize the license plates of the cars that passed him in the early morning rush. But eventually the car pleaded for gas, which meant heading for the highway exit, which meant merging to the right, which meant checking that mirror, a motion brought it squarely into his field of view. Joonmyeon, or more specifically, Joonmyeon’s neck—pale, vulnerable and right there.

The hijacker had been hyper-vigilant all throughout the night, obsessing over every shadow that passed overhead, eyeballing every car that approached. But sometime in the gray hours of the morning, he’d drifted off, and now his head lolled against the window, revealing his jugular, blue and delicate under his skin. One jab from the stiletto in Kris’ sleeve or a quick slice with the razorblade he kept folded in his collar, and that vein would gush the water-wielder’s life onto the leather seats. If their quarry turned up in a roadside ditch, the hunters would end this chase. No-one really cared about the courier, he was just a victim of circumstance. Once he dumped Joonmyeon, he could haul Yixing across the Pacific, hand him over, and get back to his life.

The car bumped over uneven pavement as Kris pulled into the gas station, and Joonmyeon shifted awake. He lifted his head with effort, squinting as he took in their unfamiliar surroundings. “Gas station,” Kris told him. “Outside of Las Vegas.” Joonmyeon grunted his understanding, his eyes already closing, his body relaxing almost immediately. Incredulous, Kris watched him sleep, listening to the Yixing’s snuffly snore and Minseok’s quiet breathing from the backseat. In Kris’ world, insomnia was a basic survival skill, and trust was just something people did right before they died. Yet, even after they’d seen the tools of his trade, these three had left their lives in his hands. It was mind-bogglingly short-sighted of them.

He flexed his wrist, and his stiletto slipped into his fingers, warm from his body heat and familiar as his own hand. If Yixing resisted, he could alway dispatch the lot of them and tell the boss the hunters did it— maybe bash himself up a little to make it seem like he’d tried to save Yixing. Except, the boss had been in a sharpening mood when they last spoke. It might not matter what story Kris told, he would lose his head for losing Yixing. Kris rolled the smooth metal in his hands, thinking things through. He had never taken a life without a direct order from Yong. Even then, the cold-blooded kills— the ones where they cried, or begged, or were just plain young— those left a tarnish on his steel that wouldn’t polish away. It would be a shame to dirty such a pretty little blade, and then have his head chopped off anyway. Kris slid the stiletto back into the lining of his sleeve, and climbed out the car, closing the door quietly.

As he pumped fuel, he tried to convince himself it was the punishment for failure, not sentimental weakness, that stayed his hand. He wouldn’t stick around indefinitely, he reasoned. The first chance he got, he would take Yixing, and let Aquaman and Frosty fend for themselves. The nozzle disengaged with hollow clank, the sound startling Joonmyeon awake. As Kris re-shelved the nozzle, the Brit climbed out of his seat and spread his arms in a spine-crackling stretch.

“Thought you would have done a bunk by now,” he said through his yawn.

“A what?”

“Run off. Skipped out. Left us twisting in the wind.”

Kris’ heart skipped a beat. “Demons can read minds!”

”Demon?!” Joonmyeon burst into hand-clapping laughter, his eyes disappearing into twin arcs of hilarity.

“It’s not that funny,” Kris grumbled, stuffing his hands his pockets, his ears burning in embarrassment.

“No, no, you’re right.” Joonmyeon cleared his throat, his brows knitted gravely as he solemnly raised his hand. “I swear I’m not a supernatural creature that can hear your thoughts.” He barely finished before his lips began quivering again, his breath coming in snorts. Kris stalked away to pay for the gas.

When he returned, Joonmyeon was waiting outside of the car, an apologetic frown replacing his earlier laughter. The smile was nicer. Kris gave himself a swift mental slap for the thought, followed by a real one. Joonmyeon cocked his head to one side in confusion, but Kris just hunched his shoulders and ran for the driver’s seat.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Joonmyeon explained as they settled into their places. “I’m a bit out of practice with the whole talking-to-people thing. I’m afraid my social graces went a bit rusty inside that mountain.”

Kris’ ears flamed again, the fire spreading down the back of his neck and creeping over his face as he desperately busied himself with the car. Apologies should be insincere, cuss-laden rants or tearful gibberings after a prolonged tenderization. They should be worthless and easily discarded, like a cheap paper cup. But Joonmyeon’s apology, all manners and concern, was tea in a china cup, spriggy, gold-leaf flowers around the rim and tiny cubed sugars in the saucer. Kris had already decided not to kill him, and gracefully polite wasn’t his style, so he ignored the apology altogether, faking a bout of coughing to cover up the awkwardness.

“How far are we from the city?” Joonmyeon asked finally, fighting another smile.

“Thirty minutes,” Kris croaked, clearing his sore throat. Now he could use some tea. Damn demon.

“Let’s stop at the first hotel we find,” Joonmyeon suggested. “We can eat, rest, and,” he plucked at his thin shirt and wiggled his bare toes, “Minseok and I need proper clothes.”

The outskirts of Las Vegas was littered with hotels—barely five minutes passed before Kris was pulling into the lot of a ramshackle roadside inn. After one look at Joonmyeon, his features scrunched in distaste, Kris drove through the lot and back onto the road, shaking his head. Even destitute, half-dressed, and hunted, the Brit had standards. Kris drove in circles around the city, stopping at every lodging establishment they passed, trying to find one that Joonmyeon wouldn’t wrinkle his nose at. Along the way, the elderly manager of a secluded bed-and-breakfast became the delighted owner of a shiny new SUV. An hour and another car swap later, Kris wearily parked their ancient hatchback near the entrance of a sprawling resort, and Joonmyeon’s lips curled up in approval.

The receptionist at the front desk brightened as Kris and Joonmyeon entered the glass-walled, marble-floored lobby. Her sharp gaze zipped over Kris’ expensive cufflinks and jacket-less suit to linger on Joonmyeon’s shirt, the thin fabric nearly translucent in the strong sunlight.

“King bed suite?” she suggested with a wide, hospitable smile.

Kris opened his mouth to decline, but hesitated when the receptionist winked at him. “Um…”

“We keep several available for our daytime visitors, so there’s no need to wait for the afternoon check-in time!”

Kris was missing something. He could feel it in his gut, the same way he knew when someone was hiding from him inside a room he’d just left. The receptionist’s hands hovered over her keyboard, her eyebrows raised encouragingly.

“I am not a rentboy,” Joonmyeon said, his tone flinty. OH. “We’ll be needing a room with two beds, if you please.”

“Of course, sir!” The receptionist’s smile never faltered but sweat beaded her upper lip as she blazed through the hotel’s booking system, fingers tapping frantically. “I have a double queen room with a separated lounge and a balcony! Will that work for you, sir?”

“Like a charm,” Joonmyeon assured her, and the receptionist breathed a little sigh of relief.

Kris signed for the room, telling himself he was in no way bothered by the fact that he, the one with money, had not been called sir. He handed the receptionist one of his fake credit cards with a smile of his own. They’d be gone long before charge bounced back. Joonmyeon collected the roomkeys from the woman, and passed one to Kris as they walked across the glittering lobby toward the bank of elevators.

“Go on to the room,” Joonmyeon murmured, leaning close. “I’ll get Minseok and Yixing and bring them through a side door.”

Kris gestured towards the perfectly operational, unlocked main entrance they had just used. “Why can’t they just come in the front?”

Joonmyeon swiveled toward him, his eyes searching Kris’ face for signs of a joke. When he didn’t find any, disappointed pity washed over his face. With the tone of a mother to a very slow five-year-old, he said, “I have Yixing’s shoes,” he held up one foot, showing off the thin-soled slippers, ”and Minseok’s shirtless.”

Kris’ instinctual response to that level of disrespect was a backhand across the offender’s face. Fortunately for Joonmyeon, his fingers didn’t even twitch, thanks to the zen meditation class he’d taken a year ago. The fact that Joonmyeon could witch-slap him back and drown him with his own spit played no role in his restraint.

“We paid for the room” Kris attempted to explain his reasoning, but Joonmyeon closed his eyes in resignation, the frondy plants nearby rustling with the force of his sigh. “Why do they care what we wear?!”

“Just trust me.” Joonmyeon shooed Kris toward the elevator, and Kris obeyed, grimacing.

To compensate for her faux pas, the receptionist had given them a large room, but Kris was unimpressed. All he saw was two beds, a couple of couches, and a balcony that looked out onto the brick wall of a neighboring tower. Kris walked out into the small outdoor space, checking the exterior to make sure there was no handy fire escape near their room for an assassin to climb. He locked the patio doors and shut the curtains, just in case, snagged a five dollar bottle of volcano water from the minibar, and collapsed heavily onto the bed. He switched on the television and stared at it, bored, as he chugged the overpriced tap water. Less than 24 hours ago, he’d been a favored son of the Hong Kong Dragon, a feared enforcer and respected member of the triad. Now he was sitting in a vanilla hotel room, mindlessly watching ESPN, a useless husband waiting for his wife and kids.

As if summoned, Kris’ makeshift family burst into the room. Minseok held open the door, looking exactly like a child wearing his father’s suit coat, while Joonmyeon piggybacked Yixing, who apparently couldn’t be bothered to walk.

Kris rolled his eyes at the sight. “Just put him here,” he said, waving to the bed where he was sitting. If Yixing was going to glue himself to someone, it might as well be him. At least he had experience.

Yixing tightened his arms around Joonmyeon’s neck, “I don’t want to sleep with you,” he refused, glaring at Kris.

Kris crossed his legs, shrugging off the slight. “You liked me well enough on the plane,” he muttered. Traitor.

Joonmyeon dumped Yixing onto the other bed. “Sleep wherever you want,” he gasped, mopping sweat from his forehead. “I need to find a place to buy clothes. Minseok, you can choose a bed, too. I’ll sleep later.”

Minseok took a step into the room, but Yixing captured Joonmyeon’s wrist and dragged him onto the bed with him. “I’ll keep Joon-ge,” he said, crushing Joonmyeon into a bearhug. “You can have Kris-ge.”

With Herculean effort, Joonmyeon managed to peel Yixing’s arms away, only for the kid’s long legs to wrap themselves firmly around his waist. “Yixing,” he puffed, his voice thinning with exhaustion, “Get off!”

“He won’t,” Kris said smugly, as Minseok edged toward his bed, avoiding the flailing limbs. “He’s made of velcro.”

Joonmyeon wriggled free, but ended up flat on his back, pinning Yixing against the headboard with both feet. “Why are you being like this?!”

Yixing stopped fighting for a momen, and eyed Kris suspiciously. “If you leave us alone, he’ll run away.”

“I would never leave you behind,” Kris said through his teeth, his fingers tightening on a handful of sheets.

“You did it before,” Yixing argued. He pointed at Minseok, “You left Min-ge in the weeds!”

Kris spread his hands, defensively. “We went back for him.”

“Don’t worry, Yixing,” Joonmyeon interrupted,“If Kris really wants to leave, he has to take you with him. Isn’t that right…Yifan?”

Kris kept his expression neutral, waiting for the other punch to fall. Joonmyeon was frustratingly quick on the uptake. He’d lost his name and his secret bargaining chip all at once. The not-a-telepath released Yixing, and rolled to sit upright, facing him. “I think Yixing likes us more than you right now.”

Yixing bared his teeth in Kris’ direction, and Kris tucked his hands under his legs, clearing his throat to mask the motion.

“We haven’t known each other long, but I imagine he’s a handful when he’s unhappy.” Joonmyeon mused thoughtfully, as Yixing began wrapping one of his forearms in a sheet. “Even if you tried to take him by force, you wouldn’t get very far.”

Kris chuckled bitterly. ‘Handful’ was an understatement. He’d encountered attack dogs with less ferocity, and the fact that the wounds Yixing inflicted just healed over was scarier than if they’d gone black and rotten. It had taken only seconds for Yixing’s blood to overcome that hospital orderly, and he died in minutes, with barely a sound. Yixing said he could control the effect— what if he decided to stop playing nice? Phantom pain twinged through his hand.

“Because of what we can do, the militia wants all three of us.” Joonmyeon said intently. “Yixing included. Even if he was willing to leave with you, I’d be against it. He’s safer with us. You’re both safer with us.”

As much as Kris hated to admit it, Joonmyeon was right. He had always been a lone wolf, but people who could throw water and breath ice made for decent allies if the hunters ever did catch up with them. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to stay together until the boss contacted him with more concrete orders. Maybe, just this once, there was safety in numbers. Joonmyeon grinned, as if Kris’ thoughts were scrolling across his forehead in a blinking marquee.

“So that’s sorted, then.” Joonmyeon raised his arm, now tightly bound to Yixing’s with several twists of hotel sheet. “Now we need to figure out who will go for supplies, because I’m a bit tied up.”